


Taking the Long Way

by NAOA



Category: Hellblazer, Hellblazer & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Atmospheric, Demonic Possession, Demons, Exorcisms, Gen, Hitchhiking, Horror, Magic, Spooky, Travel, Weird, Weirdness, strange
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-21
Updated: 2020-05-21
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:07:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24312487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NAOA/pseuds/NAOA
Summary: John Constantine hitches the wrong ride. Influenced by early Hellblazer comics.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 13





	Taking the Long Way

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, I'm not sure when I wrote this but I thought I'd post it. The song in the story is Mandolin Wind by Rod Stewart, I'm not sure what I was going for with it but I think I like what came out. Please enjoy!

Exorcism in Wakefield, John catches a ride out of Ossett just as the sky is at it's blackest.

The exorcism went okay, he thinks. The old man is fine now, back to being a drooling vegetable and the demon is gone to hell. . . probably.

He'd been called by an old friend to help at a nursing home. Strange things were afoot and people were rising out of comas.

He'd solved the problem pretty quickly but it was dark now and he didn't have a room rented. Didn't really want to stop over in Wakefield.

He supposed he'd just slip his way down the M1 and back to London and catch some sleep on the way. Maybe he'd even get lucky and he wouldn't get picked up by a psychopath.

He was a pretty light sleeper though so he doubted there'd be much trouble.

He hitched a ride from a lorry driver on the edge of Ossett and felt tremendous relief at being able to sit down.

Worst came to worst he could probably put up for the night down the road but the driver is cheerful and probably on uppers and the cab is full of Rod Stewart whom he doesn't quite mind and he's told to rest up.

He can't though, his mind is too awake and the driver is tapping his fingers to Mandolin Wind and he can't stop thinking of the words.

But you chose to stay, stay and keep me warm

Through the darkest nights I've ever known

The driver hums along to Rod and he wonders if he's going to be able to put up with this forever.

It seems unlikely.

John watches the fields and farms flash by as they leave Ossett behind. They're shadowed in the dark and look like deep pools at night.

They pass Horburry and cross the Calder River and they're just going through numb and endless suburbs when he nods off.

The wheels are turning under him and the driver is still humming to Rod Stewart. Somewhere distant he wonders how long the song is, it seems impossibly long but he's too tired to really think about it and Rod is singing about winters and years and smiles.

Through the coldest winter in almost fourteen years

I couldn't believe you kept a smile

He wakes for a minute near Netherton which is weird because Netherton isn't on the M1 and it isn't south and he thinks they might have taken a turn.

Rod's still going on the radio and the driver is still singing.

He falls back asleep.

He wakes again outside of Linthwaite, only knowing where he is because of a passing sign. Something inst right and the driver is still tapping his finger.

Oh I never was good with romantic words

So the next few lines come really hard

The driver is still, still tapping his finger and John looks at him, wondering what's happening. "Got a name, mate?" He asked.

The cab driver smirks. "Pete Sutcliff." He says.

John glowers. A real comedian. "Right." He mutters. "How's about you just let us off here, eh?" He has his hand on the door and he can see the houses and cars vanishing behind them.

What was the last place they'd just gone through? Marsden? He couldn't remember. He wanted out.

"You're John Constantine." The driver say's without looking at him. "I can smell it on you."

John's skin pricks and he feels a cold sweat on the back of his neck and in his pits. "Can you now?" He asks, trying to stay calm, trying to be cool.

The man just grins again and he looks out the window, Rod Stewart still crooning over the radio.

Don't have much but what I've got is yours

Except of course my steel guitar

It doesn't make sense. He thinks they should be further along in the song but they aren't and he can't remember how long it's been playing.

Too long.

Wasn't it playing in Ossett when he got in?

"So you know who I am but I don't know who you are." He say's, cocky, arrogant, making conversation.

The man just drums his fingers. "You think?" He asks.

"I don't think you're Peter Sutcliff if that's what you're asking."

The man laughs, still not looking at him and the moore yawn up around them, black and rolling, like an endless sea.

John just wants to stay cool and get out but he kind of wants some answers first. "You know who I am and you know what I'm capable of." He say's, making his voice low and dangerous.

The driver just hums some more. It's creepy and it's taunting and he doesn't actually know that he can get himself out of the cab.

He wonders if he should make a show of magic, remind the fucking idiot who he's messing with but something holds him back, maybe it's the tight confines of the cab or maybe it's the fact that without a driver they'd probably crash. Maybe he still wants his answers more than he values his life.

He waits.

"You threw me out, Johnny." The driver say's after a while. "You've thrown a lot of people, out. Haven't you?"

Ah. He looks at the driver who probably isn't a driver and thinks he understands. "Yeah well, eviction served." He muttered.

The driver just shrugs and they head on, plowing into the darkness and mystery of the world.

He's on the edge of his seat.

I recall the night we knelt and prayed

Noticing your face was thin and pale

The lorry blares down the road, headlights cutting pathetic swaths through the dark and wheels turning at inhuman speeds. He wonders how far the driver is going to take him.

"So what's this about, mate?" He asks. "Some kind of revenge?"

The driver just hums on.

John is getting frustrated and he wonders if he should just take his chances and dive out of the door.

The driver isn't looking at him and his fingers itch towards the handle. Fuck he want's out and a smoke. He's practically gasping in the cab now.

I found it hard to hide my tears

I felt ashamed I felt I'd let you down

He takes his chance, tugging the door handle and throwing himself out and into the world.

He hits the ground with tremendous force and rolls, rolling down, down, into a ditch where he lays for a minute, body aching and bones protesting.

He can hear the lorry blasting on down the road and once the sound of it is in the distance he get's to his feet, wiping mud and dirt from himself as he did. Fuck.

He looks around and lights a cigarette and for a moment the spark of his lighter is the only thing illuminated in the whole, black world.

The wind is howling around him and the air is electric but it's not raining yet and he has his cigarette and the lorry is gone.

He winces and flicks some ash off the end of his cigarette.

He's in it now.

The middle of the God damn nowhere and the blackest part of night.

He starts back up the road and wonders how long it will be until he sees another car. Probably all bloody night and his feet hurt before he's even walked far enough to justify it.

He shakes his head and trudges on, lighting another cigarette and hoping he won't run out before he reaches a petrol station.

Behind him he hears the sound of lorry wheels and he turns, hoping against hope it's not the driver from before but it's not. It's a newer model and he waves and waves and shoots up magical sparks, desperate for a ride.

The merciful fucker stops and John climbs in.

It's an older man this time, scruffy, no ring, faded, tartan shirt. He feels relief because the man is just so bloody normal.

Then again, the last guy had seemed pretty normal too.

"What the hell are you doing all the way out here for, sonny?" The man asks, scratching his head.

John shrugs. "Bad joke a mate played." He said. "Think you could give me a lift?"

"Where you headed?"

"South."

The driver nods. "I can take you as far as Leicester."

John nods too. "Anything I can get, mate." He say's, laying back and keeping his eyes open.

The moors are almost terrifying in the dark. Endless, black and rolling.

They have secrets out there and he's glad he's heading south.

The driver turns the radio on soft and his ears prick up as they get rolling. Rod Stewart is still crooning away.

No mandolin wind couldn't change a thing

Couldn't change a thing no, no

He put's it from mind and plans to get off at Leicester.

They might play something different in Leicester.

For now though, he taps his foot and hums along, the driver silent in the dark.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
